


we watch as our young hearts fade

by SugarFey



Series: Life Is Hard To Find Again [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFey/pseuds/SugarFey
Summary: “You’re still young.”Immediately, Thor covers her hand with his, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “Not like I was. You would have never looked at me if you knew me then.”They're battered and broken, but perhaps, they have a chance at becoming whole.





	we watch as our young hearts fade

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to 'it comes and goes in waves,' but as with all my fics in this series, it can be read as a stand alone.
> 
> As always, many thanks to SneakyHufflepuff for the beta.

She goes looking for him after they hear another polite but firm message from a planetary government on the bridge. The Statesman can enter their atmosphere to refuel and stock some supplies, but no Asgardians are to leave the ship. It turns out being the remnant of a dead colonial empire does not make you a popular dinner guest. 

Thor had passed on the orders with a resigned bark, and left the bridge with what may have been a literal storm cloud forming over his head. Brunnhilde waits for a while to give him space, but eventually she follows, ignoring Loki’s stare burning into her back.

She isn’t surprised to find him in the cargo bay. She would have headed there even if the crackle of static in the hallway hadn’t given him away. The scorch marks across the walls are more unexpected. 

The entrance into the cargo bay opens onto a steel walkway overlooking the deep metal stomach of the ship. Far below her feet, Thor is beating the crap out of the heavy bags hanging from the ceiling. He’s stripped to the waist and sweat glistens on his flushed skin. Brunnhilde pauses at the top of the stairs, watching the taut ripple of muscle in his back as he throws hook after hook.

Her foot lands on the stair just as he throws an enormous punch against the bag, sending it flying with an explosion of lightning from his hands. 

“Hey,” she calls, gently. “You’ll blow a hole in the ship if you keep that up.”

Thor jerks to halt, the line of his shoulders heaving. She is not intimidated by his bulk or his position, never has been, but she still slows her approach, every movement clear and deliberate. 

He turns his face away when she reaches him, jaw set. “Do our people hate me?” 

Of course he would worry about that. “No,” Brunnhilde sighs. “Though everyone could do with some fresh air.”

There’s no sense trying to sugar coat it. Generally, the Asgardians have tried to keep up a sense of unity on the ship, but after five months in space and no room to properly grieve or feel the solid ground beneath their feet, it’s only natural that morale would start to plunge. 

“So much for the might of Asgard,” Thor says, with a bitter laugh.

She shrugs. “Asgard used to have diplomatic clout and the firepower to back it up. Now that we’re four thousand refugees on a ship with no guns, everyone in the galaxy thinks we’re somebody else’s problem. Arseholes,” she adds, though without much venom. 

In truth, she can’t really blame other planets for rejecting them, even if Asgard did become less aggressive than it was in her day. Conquest tends to leave long memories.

“Some king I’m turning out to be,” he growls, tendrils of lightning crackling through his fists. 

“And I’m not much of a Valkyrie,” she replies. Her tone is light in an attempt to brighten the mood, but it fails utterly. 

Thor takes another step closer to her. “That isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it? You see far too much good in people. It’ll get you killed one day.” It already leaves him open to more hurt than he deserves. 

“Maybe.” His face softens, the corner of his remaining eye crinkling even if his signature twinkle is still missing. “But I was right about you.” 

Her chest tightens at that, too much to respond with words, so she presses her lips to his, softly, gently. He kisses her back in kind, his hands coming to rest on her waist, but no further. 

Thor smiles ruefully when they part. “Quite a pair we make.” 

She grins back, even as the breath catches in her throat. “A drunk and an exile.” 

He chuckles, but there is little humour in the sound. His arms slide closer around her waist and she lets herself be pulled against his body.

“I was foolish in my youth,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against her hair. “I believed war could be glorious. That by proving myself in battle I was proving myself worthy as a king and as a man. I had no idea what worthy meant.” 

“In fairness, Odin wasn’t the best role model.” She leans back to try to see his face, placing her hand against the leather armour he still insists on wearing over his chest every day. “You’re still young.”

Immediately, Thor covers her hand with his, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “Not like I was. You would have never looked at me if you knew me then.” 

She cocks her head appraisingly. “I don’t know. The blond locks were pretty impressive.”

Finally, a proper smile. “Would you have liked something to pull?”

Grinning back at him, she traces the edge of the shorn hair at his temple. “I may have a weakness.”

She twines her fingers with his and lowers his hand from his chest until she can give him a gentle tug towards the stairs. “Come on. Those knuckles need cleaning.”

She isn’t sure why she leads him to her quarters. The room is much smaller than his, for one thing, only a narrow bunk for a bed instead of the wide mattress in his quarters that can and probably has fit five people at some stage. The empty bottles taking up space under the bed don’t offer the best impression either. 

But Thor does not say anything as he walks through the sliding door, just makes a gruff sound of protest as she practically shoves him down to sit on the bed. 

He continues to stay silent as Brunnhilde grabs some antiseptic wipes from her tiny med kit. When she turns back to him his arms are propped loosely on his knees, his brow furrowed and jaw set hard. 

“Relax,” she says firmly, taking his wrist and drawing one of the wipes over his large knuckles. “I don’t want you lighting up this place.”

He seems to visibly deflate at that, bowing his head with a stuttering breath. “I guess I still need to learn more control.”

“Don’t we all.” She sticks a healing plaster over the bigger scrape on his knuckle, then releases his hand. His arm falls back down immediately, his clenched fist resting on the mattress.

“I have to see to the food distribution,” he mutters. 

“No, actually, you don’t. Heimdall has things under control, and Loki is surprisingly good at keeping track of the supply stocks.” Her voice softens as she looks at him. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.” 

Thor’s face crumples, and Brunnhilde wonders for a horrible moment if he might have tears in his eyes. She reaches out for him, swallowing the rising panic, but he takes hold of her waist instead, drawing her forward until he can press his forehead against her stomach. 

“Please,” he breathes, desperation ragged in his voice as his fingers clutch her hips. “Please.” 

She stares down at him, frozen, confusion and shock clawing at her throat. If it’s saving he wants; she’s the last person to save anyone, if it’s absolution, she would be the wrong person for that, too. Who knows, maybe it’s just sex. 

Her hand rests awkwardly on his head. “Thor…” 

He looks up at her, his eyes impossible to read even as she searches his face. His firm hands prompt her forward until her legs are brushing his knees. The air is heavy with words unsaid. 

She leans down to him instead, their lips meeting. He clutches at her as the kiss deepens, burning with want and heat as always, yet there’s a tinge of sadness too, a need she cannot name.

Thor pants, burying himself in her shoulder. “I still don’t think I can do this.”

“So we’ll face it together.” It’s stupid and foolhardy and she will regret it later no doubt, but she knows, it’s impossible, she’s too far gone to deny it any longer.

She bites down on his neck and tugs on the short ends of his hair, forcing his head back so he can see her determination, hear the claim in her voice. “My king.”

“Oh, _fuck_.” His mouth falls open as he stares at her with something like awe. He shudders, his whole body thrumming with palpable energy, and with a groan he slides down off the bed onto his knees. 

“Thor, what—“

His fingers brush the buckle of her belt. “May I?” 

Heat flares down her spine. “If you don’t, I may have to kill you.”

Agonisingly slowly, he undoes her pants, pulls them a little down her legs, and holds her gaze until the last possible second before tasting her with his mouth.

Now it is her turn to swear.

Her head falls back, losing track of time, losing track of _thought_ , one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other braced against the humming metal wall of the ship. Thor is a force of nature, enthusiastic rather than skilful yet oh so eager to please, responding to her gasps and moans. When her knees start to buckle he holds her steady with one hand, the other moving up between her spread thighs, fingers pushing inside her.

She comes with a shout, collapsing forward, grabbing onto his shoulders as he catches her and lowers her, shaking, into his lap.

“Hey,” she says, grinning stupidly into his face. A good orgasm always turns her into a giddy mess, as he is well aware. 

He strokes her hair, his remaining eye warm. “Hey.”

She tilts her head up to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. “You are wearing far too many clothes.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he rumbles, trailing kisses down her throat. 

A thought creeps into her brain, that if she has a claim to him then he must have equal claim to her, though her mind is too addled to decide what to do with this notion. “Clothes,” she insists, pulling on his armour. “Now.” 

They stand and strip quickly, Brunnhilde still a little shaky, and in moments she is pushing him down onto the bed and sinking onto him.

It’s desperate, and breathless, and far, far too good. When he pulls her to him in their afterglow she does not try to resist, just lays her cheek against his chest. She feels him swallow. 

“Brunn, I…” 

She looks up quickly, one finger against his lips. “I know.”

There’s a new tenderness to their kiss now. She lets it stay that way.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the conclusion to the 'Life Is Hard To Find Again' series, unless some missing scene inspiration should strike. ;) But this certainly does not mean it will be my last Thor/Brunnhilde fic. Who knows where the muse will strike next...


End file.
